


ever is a long time

by scarletbluebird



Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cap-IM 2013 RBB collection., M/M, Marvel - Freeform, Post Apocalypse, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletbluebird/pseuds/scarletbluebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. The silence. </p><p>AKA: Zombie AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	ever is a long time

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Welcome to this crazy story. Written for Reverse BB. Title from Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. Beginning and Ending italics the same. Other ending italics from Iron and Wine. Also, this may be the beginning of a series; I just had to end it at some point! I haven't gotten the final art from the author yet, but when I do I will post it to this post. Thanks!
> 
>  
> 
> GUYS TAKE HEED THE WARNINGS: brief thoughts of suicide, apocalyptic situations, reanimated dead, like one tiny line stolen from IM3 that if you haven’t seen the movie you won’t even catch and maybe not even if you have, descriptive gore, war violence, character deaths, incorrect medical terminology, creative license on locations/situations/translations, misleading names used in sex, questionable sexual consent (but not really), unsafe sex, mistaken identities, profanity, shooting of children and women, men, elderly (all whom are technically dead), shenanigans, shameless James Bond AU-ish. I don’t own: Marvel, the tiny line I stole from IM3, James Bond, any possible song lyric shit, anything that remotely seems like anything that could be owned I probably do not own. I’m just writing this for entertainment purposes.

  
 

 

Ever is a long time, ever is no time at all

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Perhaps in the world’s destruction it would be possible at last to see how it was made. Oceans, mountains. The ponderous counterspectacle of things ceasing to be. The sweeping waste, hydroptic and coldly secular. The silence._

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Paris:**

 

 

 

 

Her name was Carol Danvers: blond, beautiful, sharp as a tack. She had a wonderful smile, but from the beginning he knew she was all business.  Now, on the roof of the Palais Garnier in Paris, he watched her set up her AR without ripping her gown and chill swept over him. Hands steady, pale finger compressing the trigger, he began to understand why she was his partner.

 

The sound of the shot, muted with the silencer, still cut like a knife. She stood, swept up the gun and nodded to where he stood, against the door to the roof.

 

“Done,” She said, and in the glare of the Parisian lights she looked like some Greek Goddess, Nike or the wife of Hades; Persephone, or maybe a great Muse who decided the fates of mortal men. “You alright?” She asked, blue eyes kind.

 

“Fine.” Steve nodded, opened the door for her. As she slipped past in a waft of expensive floral perfume he looked over his shoulder at the night sky. The stars were dim compared to the glare of the city lights.

 

He followed her inside.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Český Krumlov:**

 

 

 

Fourteen months later he was pressing his hands tight against the hemorrhaging wound in Carol’s stomach to the rat at tat torrent of gunfire. Lights flashed outside the windows like lightning, flaring the dingy room into bright relief as Steve tore at a sleeve of his shirt to press against her belly.

 

“Steve,” In a flash of firelight he could see the red on her lips. “Steve, you have to get out of here.”

 

“It’s fine,” He muttered inanely, throat tight. How could he ever have thought she wasn’t human when so clearly here was the proof, flooding over his hands. “It’ll be fine.” Her fingers on his wrist were cold, surprisingly tight as she pulled his hand away from her.

 

“You need to leave now.” Voice calm, she managed to keep her mouth in a firm line although he knew she was in agony. “There’s a transport waiting for you a block away.”

 

“Right.” He bent to pick her up but she pushed her hand against his shoulder angrily.

 

“Get out of here!” She yelled. “You know I can’t get that far in this condition – go.”

 

“Carol, I’m not leaving you here to die-“

 

“You’re not,” She kicked at him, heel catching him in the shin and making him retreat despite himself. “I’ll be fine.” Her eyes were bright, telling him she spoke true even as the blood on the floor said differently. “As you’re senior partner, I’m telling you to go.”

 

 

At the door, he watched her lean against the wall and nod at him, tilt her head back and close her eyes. The pads of his fingers were wet when he rubbed them together.

 

 

 

He went.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Present Day,**

**London:**

 

 

“Rogers, you’re meeting your point of contact in Istanbul in 22 hours. I suggest you go home, get some rest, pack up your necessities…and do, what ever it is you do when you have some down time.” Hill didn’t look up from her scrutiny of the laptop screen. Merely, pushed a folder in Steve’s direction. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm, fingers curling around the edges.

 

 

“Thank you, Hill.” Steve said, holding back a sigh. “Does Fury need to see me?” He’d go through the thick folder back at home.

 

When the pretty brunette didn’t look up at him, just shook her head, he took his leave, pushing the heavy wooden door of her well-lit office open and stepping out into the hall.

 

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the big windows, casting the white walls into bright relief. Steve stood for a moment and looked out at the bridge and heavy traffic flow of greater London. The commuters were beginning to trickle out of their offices and Steve knew it was a matter of 15 minutes before the Tube became unbearable. Sighing again, he shuffled towards the exit, saying hello to Barton who seemed to be in a deep concentration, brow furrowed and focused on his small iPad.

 

“I’ll see you later Clint.” Steve said, feeling sort of like a heel for interrupting. Clint looked up from his Pad and smiled.

 

“Sure, sure Steve. Have a good weekend.” He looked back down at his Pad to what Steve now realized, was a scrabble game.

 

“I’m terrible at those.” He said, heading away. Truth be told, he didn’t think he was too bad, although when Roni and he played Words with Friends he lost every time. Still, Roni was a self-proclaimed genius so Steve knew that had to count for something.

 

“They suck.” Clint called out, fingers moving across his pad. Steve continued down the hall listening to the faint sound of Clint’s cussing.

 

Exiting the SIS building, he clumped down the steps and into the afternoon foot traffic.

 

Half way across Vauxhall Bridge, while trying to skirt around a portly man in a rather strange looking mauve suit who was talking loudly on his mobile, Steve felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket. Nestling the large manila folder tighter under his arm he used his other hand to dig the phone out and read the text, making sure to not lose his place in the commuter crowd lest mauve suit man with the bad cologne catch up to him.

 

_Should have it ready for you at HQ, ask HE if you need any assistance. Or Hill, if you dare._

_-R_

 

Damn. Well, he could go back now but going against foot traffic could be considered a suicide attempt. Better he swing by R&D tomorrow before he left. Slipping the phone back in his pocket, he decided to wait until he had a place on the Tube before replying.

 

 

 

 

_Appreciate it Roni. I’ll let you know how it works. By HE I assume you mean Hawkeye?_

_Steve_

 

Steve closed his eyes and leaned his head against the side of the Tube window. Not hygienic at all, but he had a monster headache growing just behind his eyes. He listened to the clank of the train against the rails, the murmur of afternoon commuters exhausted by their day, the thankfully far off squeal of a child laughing. He thought about wide open spaces, the Forest of Dean, the white cliffs over Dover where his mother used to take him when he was very young. His phone vibrated.

 

_I expect nothing less from you, Cap. And yes, obviously I meant Hawkeye_

- _R_

 

Steve rolled his eyes. Despite having corresponded with Roni for a few years now he was still somewhat surprised by the man’s sarcastic streak.

 

_It could have meant something else._

 

His thumb pressed the send key. Steve squinted down at his mobile’s background while he waited for Roni’s response. It was a small picture of him, Clint and Bruce. Steve was wearing a cone hat that read “It’s My Birthday and I Want Some Cake!” In big garish red letters. The hat had been a gag gift sent from Roni. Shame he had yet to meet the man in person but with Roni stationed in a MI6 contracting building in LA there was little chance of that happening in the near future.

 

 _Especially with me being sent to god knows where_ , Steve thought. He didn’t know why Fury didn’t assign Roni as his techie, why he was meeting a completely strange point of contact in Istanbul. Maybe Roni _had_ been asked and he’d turned down the position? That probably was the case, Steve thought somewhat sadly. He was sure the man led a full life outside of work from some of the strange text messages he’d gotten over the years. His mobile buzzed.

 

 

_Ok, I’ll bite - What else could it have meant?_

_-R_

 

 

_Fury?_

_Steve_

 

 

_ha!_

_-R_

 

 

He wanted to ask, he wanted to ask, his fingers even typed out _Did F ever suggest_ before he pursed his lips and hit the ‘x’ button with a fierceness that surprised him. If Roni had turned the position down, Steve decided he didn’t want to know. Feeling out of sorts, but thankfully with his headache diminishing, Steve jammed his mobile back into his pocket and waited for the Tube Operator to announce his stop.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time he reached his pathetic flat, he was sweating heavily thanks to the strange humidity. In the cramped entry hall, Steve huffed in irritation and hastily undid his tie and half his shirt buttons before reaching back to pull the shirt completely off.

 

“Wonderful,” he’d have to do the wash before tomorrow, and pack, and well…it would probably be a good idea to sleep. He eyed the heavy folder in his hand and made a decision.

 

Thirty minutes later he was washed and laying in bed, half-heartedly flipping through the pages of his mission briefing. The agency had rented out a building in the center of Istanbul’s market area – the Beyoglu district – and his point of contact – a man, whose name seemed to be nothing but the letter ‘A’ – was stationed on the fourth floor. The guy was some sort of intelligence tech, or weapons manufacturer, or mad scientist, actually Steve wasn’t sure _what_ he was. The information on him was miniscule, only that he seemed to be an MI6 contractor. Steve was sort of annoyed that he did not have a high enough clearance to know the man’s true name and yet, he felt sure that this A person probably knew his. After all, everyone seemed to.

 

Sometime in the late hour, he fell asleep to the sound of heavy rain against his window.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“I tried to tell you,” The man whispered in the dark. There was a sound of rushing water, getting louder. “I tried to tell you but, you wouldn’t listen.”_

 

_“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered back, pressing his face against the man’s hair. It was wet, and there was a heavy copper smell to it. “I’m so sorry.”_

 

_The man’s hand came up to grip his wrist and he turned to –_

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Steve’s alarm on his phone went off with a shrill whir, jostling him from his sleep. He moaned and rolled over, burying his head in the pillow, trying to hold on to the vestiges of his dream. The persistency of the alarm finally made him growl and dart a hand to his dresser where his mobile lay. Shutting off the sound, he sprawled out on his back and looked at the ceiling. There was some sort of stain in the shape of- Steve tilted his head, a peony? Or maybe it was a sailboat. Sighing he made himself get out of bed and stumbled to the shower.

 

Twenty minutes later, on the streets of London, Steve paused to watch the crowds of people weave their way to work. Like ants, he thought, watching a woman buy a magazine from a vendor, watching a man bend to tie his shoe and another yap away on his mobile angrily gesticulating about something. Steve’s travel bag’s strap sat heavy over his shoulder as he pressed himself into the flowing crowd.

 

On the tube he idly listened to two teenagers talk about some television show. He pulled his mobile out and checked to see if there were any messages from Roni. Nothing, but it was still very early in LA, the man was either asleep or, more likely, working in his beloved lab. He’d text the man when he got the new equipment.

 

* * *

 

Steve had been on a mission in Buenos Aires when he received the first email from Roni. He had emailed Fury requesting assistance with his new intel device that ran on some strange form battery he had never seen before. Fury had forwarded his email to a Mr. Nam who had responded extremely quickly for it being 2am in LA – which, he was quick to point out, was where he was stationed. Roni was good though, he’d emailed Steve step by step instructions for rebooting the light technology (which was apparently a prototype for some sort of tech- the particulars of which Steve was not privy to). Steve had written the man an appreciative email in which he may have gone on and on for a while about how thankful he was for the help so late at night and how he really didn’t much care for the night life of Buenos Aires and was glad he would be able to finish the intel tonight and could leave tomorrow.

 

The response email had been bitingly sarcastic but some instinct had pushed Steve to respond. It had been the beginning of a strange but beautiful friendship.

 

Now, looking down at the weird gun in the bowels of MI6, Steve was questioning that very instinct. It looked like something out of a bad scify movie, the ones that came on late at night like sharktipus versus man or giant piranhas attack. The word ostentatious could be used liberally. Bright red, with a strange blue glow, made Steve pull out his phone with a sigh took a picture and texted Roni despite the early hour in LA.

 

 

_What is this?_

_Steve_

 

He poked at the gun with a hesitant finger. His phone bleeped less than a minute later. Roni was in his lab then.

 

_I would have thought you’d be able to recognize a gun by now._

_-R_

 

He called him. Roni picked up on the third ring with a sigh.

 

“Yes, do you need help being told how to hold it?”

 

“Is it even a real gun?” Steve ignored the previous question. Roni’s voice was muted and fuzzy, as usual, a testimate to the fact that his labs were far under ground – or so he often said.

 

 

The other man sputtered. “What? Of course it’s a real gun! Look, have you even _tried_ it yet?” At Steve’s silence, Roni continued. “Just pick it up, point it at the range target and press the trigger. It’s arc tech – remember Buenos Aires? I’m still on the prototype phase but this one should work fine for you.”

 

“You’re giving me a prototype for field work after it worked so well last time?” Steve picked up the gun hesitated and hefted the weight in his hand. It was light, lighter than it looked and he could feel a strange sort of tingle as the blue light shined on his hand.

 

“That was over four years ago! Geeze, you and Fury have a hard time letting things go don’t you. Look, this tech is gonna be awesome, it requires no magazine or anything. Just- take the gun and shoot it. Let me know what you think.”

 

“Fine, hold on.” He placed the phone on the table, eyed the gun as he walked across the room to the firing range. It was a 100 meter range and he braced himself for any sort of strange kick back from the pistol, steadied his breath and shot.

 

A weird blue light erupted from the barrel of the gun, sizzling a hole into the bulls-eye of the target.

 

“What the heck.” Steve muttered in amazement before firing off a couple more rounds. There was barely any kickback and the pistol was surprisingly quiet for the size of the hole left behind by the…laser? Steve clicked the safety on and jogged back to his phone.

 

“What is this? Some kind of weird laser thing?”

 

“You like it then,” Roni sounded pleased. “Yea, it’s something like that. It’s the second prototype of it’s kind – I have the other one. Nifty huh?”

 

“It’s…amazing.” Steve said for lack of any other words. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

“And you never will.” Roni stated. “Look, I’ve got to get back to this, you go on doing whatever you’re doing. If you have any problems give me a call yea?”

  
“Do you ever sleep?”

 

“Never.” Roni assured, hanging up.

 

Steve sighed and looked down at the gun. He couldn’t help but smile at the garish color. “Well, what the hell.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The flight to Istanbul was uneventful. Steve spent most of it with his head pressed against the window, dozing. His dreams were vivid: the beach on a cold day, the blue of the sky, the blue of Carol’s eyes as she pled for him to leave her, a strange cave in the desert and the blue light of Roni’s gun as it fired into the sky.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Istanbul:**

 

Steve loved Istanbul. He enjoyed traveling but it was not often that he truly loved his destination. Something about Istanbul, whether it was the history, the busy vibe, or the multitudes of strange people, Steve felt like he could get lost, never come back and everything would be okay.

 

“Not today.” He said to himself somewhat wistfully. Having memorized the address of his contact, he set off at a brisk pace.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he walked in the room, he was hit with the hum of a thousand machines working in tandem. The lights were pitched way low, making the multitude of computer screens seem as bright as the sun. Stepping further into the lab, he could make out the form of a figure, hunched over and frantically typing against a keyboard.

 

“Er- hello?” He called out hesitantly. The figure stopped typing for a moment, and then began again, faster than before. Pale fingers ghost-like in their fervor. “Um,” Steve hated the feeling of embarrassment that swept through him as he made his way towards the man. “I’m looking for a man named A, is that you?”

 

 

The closer he came to the man the more he was convinced he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. The man in front of him wasn’t in a labcoat, like most scientists Steve had ever met, but rather a ratty Metallica T-shirt and frayed jeans. His dark hair curled over his forehead and ears and a large pair of glasses hid his eyes. The reflection of the monitor in front of him glinted in the glass lenses and Steve could read nothing in the gibberish the man seemed so intent on.

 

He was still standing there debating what to do, when the man abruptly stopped typing, sighed, ran a hand through his messy hair and turned to look up at Steve. The light from the monitor shifted to the side of his face, casting his cheekbones in sharp relief and creating a menacing look to his goatee.

 

“I’m A,” He said blandly, looking Steve up and down once before yawning. “I take it you’re the infamous Steven Rogers?”

 

“You’re an American!” Steve couldn’t help exclaiming. When the man raised his eyebrows at Steve’s outburst he rushed to apologize. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just…er, well, I thought you’d be British?” It was weak, especially given since A was a contractor. _A,_ Steve thought. _A: American? Probably._

 

“Sown and grown in the US of A.” If the smirk was any indication, the man seemed amused despite himself. “And _you’re_ late.”

 

A waved off Steve’s attempted response and stood up in a rush of energy. He took his glasses off and hung them from the collar of his threadbare shirt. “Not a problem Mr. Rogers, this way this way, I have lots of awesome stuff for you to look at.” The man led the way; walk fluid and confident through the darkened room and back into the hall. The lighting was brighter and as A stopped at another door and looked back at him, Steve could see his eyes were wide and a dark brown.

 

“After you,” A motioned Steve in front of him, and into another darkened room. “This is my weapons lair. It’s pretty awesome.” The lights must have been motion sensored because they came flaring on when A closed the door.

 

“You designed all of these yourself?” The room was lined with all kinds of weapons from guns, to crossbows, to strange glowing devices Steve was unfamiliar with. For a second they had him thinking about Roni but no, these glowed a strange red and Roni’s new tech was a calming blue.

 

“Yup,” A said, obviously proud. He led Steve over to a small selection of weapons laid out on one of the tables.

 

 “Here’s what I have for you.” He picked up the Walther PPK/S. “nine-millimeter short, let me show you how I made it even better.” A started to talk about how he had added tracers, handprint identifiers, compact magazines, etc. Steve liked the man’s smooth voice and how obviously passionate he was towards his work, long fingers moving over the gun with confidence, eyes intelligence bright. Steve felt an unexpected flare of arousal strike him in the gut and he forced himself to pay attention to what A was saying. The man had moved on to the Glock 19 sitting next to the PPK.

 

“I’ve also made you, from scratch even, a timepiece.” _What kind of person said timepiece?_ Steve thought, watching A pick up the watch. “Laser that can burn the eyes out of someone so be careful, removable GPS chip that you can swallow if needed – just don’t poop until we find you, little-“

“These all look great,” Steve cut in because, honestly, he did not want to learn the end of that sentence. “Thanks A.” He didn’t mention the laser-gun he had in his pack. Roni hadn’t said to not mention it to A but it didn’t feel right to divulge that sort of information, especially on tech prototypes.

 

A looked at him for a second, like he was lost in thought before shaking himself and nodding. “Yea, no problem,” He seemed to realize he was still clutching the watch in one hand and he held it out to Steve. “Here, put it on.” 

Their fingers brushed for a moment as Steve took the watch and placed it over his wrist. It was a damn nice watch, he thought to himself as he pulled the strap closed and rotated he wrist a couple of times to check the fit.

 

“It’s great.” He smiled at A who shrugged and set the guns in their cases.

 

“Here, take these, you can put them in your room.”

 

Steve hefted up the gun cases. “You do good work.”

 

“Eh, it’s okay. Boring contract stuff. Anyway, I got to get back to my programming, can you…” He waited for Steve to catch on and began to walk across the room towards the door.

 

Back out in the hallway, he watched A lock the door and type in some code, a green light began to blink rapidly on the side of the wall and a robotic voice said “Secure, system armed.”

 

“That’s my AI. Barebones out here of course, he’s more of a skeleton system but he comes with me everywhere.” A waved a hand as they walked back down the hall, towards the room Steve had initially found him in. Outside of the door, A turned and looked up at him, reaching up to fiddle with his hanging glasses for a moment. “So…I guess you can head on over to your room? If you have any problems with the equipment, which you won’t, don’t hesitate to come back down here.”

 

Steve knew a dismissal when he heard one, but it still rankled something inside him. He knew he had interrupted A, and really that he didn’t have anything to say to the man. Still, it had been nice to break the monotony, the lack of company, even for a moment. He realized he had yet to answer and managed a smile.

 

“Well, thanks A. I guess I’ll see you around.” He about-faced.

 

“Hey,” The man’s voice was hesitant; it was that infinitesimal wavering, barely audible that made Steve stop and turn around. A’s glasses were back on his face and the big frames gave him an air of vulnerability. His hands were shoved in his pockets and he leaned against the door with an uncaring mien. “I just got to get back to this, right in the middle of something. You want to go out and get something to eat later? Give you some time to look over the tech I gave you, see if you’ve got any questions?” He shrugged and looked off down the hallway. “Just a thought seeing as we’re the only two agents stationed here.”

 

“Oh,”  A rush of some cousin to relief swept through Steve. “Yea, that would be nice. Thanks.”

 

“Great,” A nodded, pushed his glasses further up his nose. “So, no hard feelings?”

 

Steve found himself shaking his head and ultimately they agreed to meet in the market square the next day for lunch.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Walk with me, I want to get some Shwarma.” The next day dawned bright and sunny. The marketplace was bustling with people and Steve could feel the pinpricks of heat on his back as the sun bore down on them. His shirt was already beginning to stick to his chest. A looked like the heat didn’t bother him at all: today he was wearing a shirt that said _Smells like Teen Spirit_ and another pair of raggy looking jeans. Steve wondered, as A led him towards Taksim Park, if the man owned any other sort of clothing. Or what he looked like out of his clothing. Steve shook his head at his thoughts.

 

They paused at a vendor and Steve watched A order two sandwiches on taboon bread.

 

“This won’t kill you believe me.” A unwrapped his food with quick fingers and opened his mouth wide to take a bite. His eyes fluttered closed and the moan that came through his food filled mouth was almost obscene. Steve felt his face heat when he realized he was watching the other man chew - he looked down at his own Shwarma and took a hesitant bite. Flavor exploded over his tongue and he found himself humming in satisfaction.

 

“Almost as good as sex, huh?” Steve choked and glanced up at A, seeing that the other man was eyeing him with a crooked grin.

 

“It _is_ very good.” Although privately Steve wasn’t sure on the sex comment. He wasn’t about to mention that to A. They munched on their meals in companionable silence, afterwards taking a leisurely walk back to their base of operations. Steve, having nothing better to do until that evening when he was due to attend a high scale party and gather intelligence on some underground mafia group called Black Lotus, followed A into the labs. The brunette glanced at him as he put his glasses on but didn’t say anything.

 

Steve settled on a stool and glanced around as A pressed a series of buttons, causing multiple screens to light up bright blue. The room was packed with various sundries, lots of strange wires protruded from cabinets, peculiar robots sat unmoving in the corners of the room, something huge was covered with a tarp, and as Steve turned back towards A, a series of holographic displays began to light up around him.

 

“Yea, I know.” A said, smiling at Steve. For a second Steve was confused but then he realized he must have made some sort of impressed noise when the displays had appeared. He watched as the other man lifted slim fingers and began to rapidly manipulate the series of numbers into some sort of pattern.

 

Steve watched in silence for some long minutes before A began to speak.

 

“I’m decrypting a virus right now – or trying to.” A was focused, wide eyed at a particular set of numbers right in front of him, his fingers moved a series of numbers 4, 6, 234, 56, 45, 3, 4, 5, into different orders over and over and over again.

 

“I thought you were a genius.” Steve found himself saying.

 

A paused in his number switching to slant him a look. “Who told you that?”

 

“Er,” Steve shrugged. “It’s kind of obvious isn’t it? I mean, you do contract work with MI6 which means you’re pretty well known in your field since they specifically seek you out for both advice and tech…” He trailed off.

 

A looked pretty pleased. “Well yea, obviously.” He and Steve looked at each other before A turned to frown up at the numbers. His hand twitched like he wanted to continue rearranging them but he didn’t move them.

 

“So you’re decrypting a virus?” Steve asked.

 

A sighed and swept a hand out, wiping the numbers out of existence. His shoulders were stiff as he clapped his hands once, dissipating the holograms and fading the calm blue light away to nothing.

 

“Trying to.” He said, turning away from the desk, lips pressed in a thin line. “Can I help you with something?”

 

“Uh,” Steve paused. “No?”

“Great.” A turned back around and waved over his shoulder before sliding a hand across the desk, lighting up a touch key board. It was an obvious dismissal and after their afternoon is was a confusing brush off. It was like a switch had flipped and morphed A into a different person.

 

Still, Steve was not one to stay where he was obviously unwanted so he made his way across the room, pausing at the door to see if A would say anything like he did yesterday. When nothing came he bit down his anger and savagely pushed open the door. It clanged closed behind him with a  somber finality.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He didn’t see A for the rest of his posting in Istanbul but he tried not to let it bother him. He was used to the capriciousness of man; whenever he held a gun to a man’s head he met a person’s true face. Often a cold-blooded killer turned into a sniveling child with a cold barrel pressed to his temple. He didn’t know what sort of man A was, had sort of wanted to find out, solve the root of him. He seemed to be a similar soul, alone in his own genius. Friendly but afraid to let anyone close. Steve wondered what he could possibly be hiding behind his mask. He probably would never get the chance to find out.

 

* * *

 

 

He went back to London for 2 weeks, slept in to 1 pm every day in his empty flat. Ran along the river Thames in the long evenings. Watched a small dark haired boy chase after his dark haired father, arms outstretched, hands splayed open, laughter stumbling out of his mouth with shortened breath. Ate cardboard boxed tv dinners in front of mindless telly programs.

 

Fury shipped him out to track some smugglers in Johannesburg. He got shot for his troubles, twice through the right shoulder. As he fell off the fast moving boat into the rolling ocean he let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes. Thought of wide-open spaces and how nice it would feel if he accepted the exhaustion seeping into his bones.  Then his training had kicked in and he swept his arms through the water with the frenetic determination of a dying man.

 

Breaking the surface of the water, he gulped frantically for air before a vicious wave swept him under. Spinning wildly, he cast his arms out for some sort of control and managed to surface again. His shoulder was numb, and he took a quick breath, diving under a monster wave. The ocean was stormy, the current unforgiving. Surfacing yet again he forced his body to tread water, squinting in the direction of what he thought was the shoreline. Stealing himself, as another wave swept him under for a long minute, he rolled onto his back and began cutting as fast as he could through the current.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_The water sound was louder, echoing through the cave, a shhh schhhhhh eerie ricochet against the inside of Steve’s ears. He tightened his hands around the man’s shoulders and hitched him up, listening to the wet sound of his breath._

 

_“It’ll be okay. I promise.” He whispered against the cold ear next to his lips, fighting to keep his voice steady._

 

_The man didn’t reply. Steve listened to the sound of water come ever closer. A rushing sound in the dark, like angry snakes. The light against his hand flickered._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sending you to Belfast.” Fury sat next to him in the infirmary. Steve’s shoulder was stiff with mistreatment. His head hurt again. “There’s been some word there about bio-weapon production.” Steve nodded and watched as the big man left. Then he rolled over on his uninjured side and slipped back into restless dreams.

 

In Belfast, he conferred with Roni for the first time in what felt like forever. The man had been strangely silent the past few months, only texting at random hours talking about his favorite sushi rolls and which US Football team had the hottest cheerleaders.

 

_See if you can get a sample when you go into the labs._   Was all his text read when Steve thumbed on his phone.

 

_A sample of what?_  He asked, but there was no response. After five minutes of debating pushing the man he simply put his phone away and focused on the blueprints of the labs he'd received from Q branch.

 

Two days later, he was standing in Relent’s main laboratory. Surrounded on all sides by large computer monitors and strange telescopic looking equipment, fuse charge in hand, he remembered Roni’s obscure text.  In the immediate vicinity there was a series of test tubes, labeled vague things like F2-34, F2-38, F4-67, and ERA-556.

 

Steve quickly gathered them up and placed them side by side in the case he had brought the charges in. Then he squatted to set the explosives up under the tables.

 

42 hours later, he was back in London, checking in the lab samples to Q branch.  An hour after that he was settling in front of the TV, cup of tea at his side and watching the latest news about the growing threat in North Korea when his phone buzzed, vibration sending it skittering across the coffee table. Steve snatched it up just as it was tipping over the edge.

 

_Good job._ The text from Roni read.

 

_I still don’t know what it was._ Steve texted back.

 

_Better for you._ Came the reply and when Steve sent a question mark back he received nothing in response.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **Beijing** :

 

 

In all the countless cities Steve had been to, Beijing was the busiest. Packed full of all sorts of people: businessmen, schoolgirls in their uniforms, homeless men with their push carts of paltry belongings, young couples laughing and talking loudly in Mandarin. The lifeblood of Hong Kong was in its brightly lit buildings; even at night, much like New York, the city was flush with momentum. No one ever stopped.

 

 

There, at the edge of the city, Steve killed something he had never seen before. The man, dressed in a frayed business suit, had come at him from the darkness hissing and growling like a crazed animal. Steve had pushed him off but the attack had been relentless only halted by a head shot.

 

 

Steve poked the guy’s leg with his foot, noting what looked like a large animal bite that had torn open his left calf.

 

 

“Strange.” He murmured to himself, making to kneel next to the figure when the sound of approaching sirens pushed him into retreat. Still, he made a note of the odd encounter in his report upon his return to London.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On the plane back, Steve realized he lost the gun Roni had given him. He suspected it had fallen in the river, when the man had attacked him. He texted Roni an apology. He never heard back.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Far in the future, Steve realized that it was in Beijing when it all began. He wished there was a way to travel back in time. He wished he had paid better attention.

 

The next time he saw A was unexpected; the encounter changed his life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Hong Kong:**

 

 

Hong Kong was almost as busy as Beijing – extremely organized city planning the only thing making it easier to move around. Steve checked himself into the Upper House suite, was walking towards the window rolling up his shirtsleeves when he heard a sound from the doorway.

 

A was leaning against the doorjamb wearing his usual messy attire. Loose jeans with a dirty pink shirt that proclaimed _Stand back I’m doing Science!_ in big black letters. He glanced up from his iPad and they stared at each other in mutual surprise before A gave a toothy grin.

 

“Well, hello there stranger.”  He tossed the iPad onto the cushy sofa, following down into a comfortable looking slouch amongst the cushions. “Didn’t know they sent you to come and _spy_ on me.” He spat out ‘spy’ like it was a dirty word and stared past Steve at the jagged skyline.

 

“Me either.” Steve’s voice was faint in his confusion. Watching A’s jaw tighten.

 

Something somewhere along the way had changed between them. Some variable, that Steve was unaware of, had shifted. What had started out as the beginning of a possible friendship was now a hostile cold shoulder at best. He felt the faint bitterness of regret, like a hard seed in his belly, but unfortunately this sort of thing happened often in the business. Spies, and all.

 

He sighed and made his way past A into the spacious bedroom. Noting the messy sheets, he set his case on the cushy chair in the corner and headed towards the bathroom.

 

“What are you doing?” A called after him, voice strained.

 

“Settling in.” He called back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I need to have some words with Fury.” It was some hours later and A was pounding angrily on some strange futuristic looking laptop. The keyboard was holographic for goodness sake. Steve couldn’t help but watch the man’s fingers fly over the ‘keys’ in fascination.

 

 “Why do you hate me so much?” The pale fingers paused and Steve looked up to meet A’s eyes. The man’s mouth was pinched, but his eyes were wide in surprise. It took Steve a moment to realize he had spoken out loud and that his voice had been mellow with curiosity where one would expect hurt.

 

“I…I don’t?” A looked agitated, and when Steve raised his eyebrows in disbelief he scrubbed his hands through his hair and down his face making a weird choking sound. “Look…I just…I’m not used to working with humans – er, people. That is. I usually work alone.” He made a face, mouth and beard twisting. For all his prevaricating, his eyes were intent on Steve’s.

 

“Okay.” Steve sighed and looked back down at the mission report.

 

“Steve.” The quiet tone of voice made him stop reading, but he didn’t look up. “I’m sorry.”

 

He looked up.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The strange beginning broke the ice to an even stranger partnership.

 

“Turn left, _left_ I said, are you hearing me- oh there you go right, _right_! Thank you, geeze.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, panting as he leaned against the sewer wall. Hong Kong sewers; not the most attractive part of the city. Although they won the award for most foul smelling part hands down. He brought his gun up. “Yea, yea,” he spoke to A. “Just tell me where the guy went.”

 

“I’m sorry I thought that’s what I _was_ doing.” A’s voice crackled sarcastically over the earpiece. The other thing Steve had quickly realized about A, on their three week long assignment in Hong Kong, was that he loved to complain. Often when he was doing so it didn’t mean anything, and was even part of some kind of defense mechanism. Steve to his dismay, was beginning to enjoy it.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What to do we have to do next?” A asked, splayed out on the suite’s sofa. He was idly flipping through the Chinese cable channels.

 

“How can you even see what’s on?” Steve asked, watching A pound the channel changer button as fast as he could. Shows whipped by in a blur of color. Half begun words, half completed sentences. It was like watching a memory just out of touch, or trying to hold onto that fragment of a dream that pulled away from recollection as soon as lucidity was reached.

 

“I can.” A assured, but he stopped clicking. He’d paused on a strange Chinese game show involving putting a rubberband around your face and trying to eat a marshmallow. People were weird, Steve thought. A was looking at him with an expectant face.

 

“What?”

 

“What?” A sighed at him. “What are we supposed to do next?” He motioned with the remote. “Evil Secret Lair found and all.”

“Well.” Steve scratched his head. “Generally now I plan a stake out and, well…wait for something to happen.” He watched A roll his eyes. “Hey, spy work isn’t all like the novels make it out to be!”

 

A muttered something that was probably derogatory under his breath and turned back towards the television. He paused in lifting the remote and tilted his head. “Hey, we should try this.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  
“So then I designed a number of prototypes and the next thing I knew, Fury was calling me up and offering me a contract I would be crazy to refuse.”

 

“That good huh?” Steve sipped his beer and watched A finish his story, complete with enthusiastic hand motions and bright eyes. It was the last night of their stay in Hong Kong, Steve and A having effectively dismantling a smuggling ring two days before. A had talked Steve into going out to a local dive bar, where absolutely no one spoke English and Steve was enjoying A have in depth conversations with the bartenders. All of whom seemed to take great enjoyment from his behavior.

 

He watched as A shared a joke with one of the waitresses and she laughed. A turned, caught his eye and smiled.

 

Hours later, they stumbled together down the streets of Hong Kong, laughing and drinking from a couple of beers they’d managed to talk the bar into giving them as they closed.

 

“You know,” A said, like he was about to reveal all the secrets that ran the universe. “You _know_ , you’re actually not so bad.” He stepped out over the curb to try his hand at hailing a cabby.

 

“Thanks,” Steve said sardonically but laughed, grabbing hold of A’s arm as he waved a little too enthusiastically at a passing cab. “Watch yourself!” The car stopped and A looked back at him. He seemed to be trying to wink but was too drunk to pull it off, instead he was closing one eye and then the other and opening them slowly. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.” Steve led them towards the cab.

 

“Hmmm yea, I like the way you think.” A drawled lowly, and Steve prayed he couldn’t see him blush in the streetlights.

 

A fell asleep against his shoulder during the cab ride but seemed quite revitalized by the time they fumbled across the lobby to the elevators.

 

“Goodnight!” He called out to the night desk manager, waving. The man smiled patiently and waved back bidding them a goodnight. Steve rolled his eyes as A prattled on energetically about someone named Pot that he knew who owed him a new coffee mug. Or something. It was pretty amusing to listen to.

 

“Don’t think I don’t know that Pottszzz took it, because it is true. If I say it’s true, it’s true, it wasn’t dummy or nothing. Pots is a slick one, but I will not be fooled.” A said this all very seriously as the elevator doors pinged open.

 

“I’m sure.” Steve thought it best to agree.

 

As the door of the suite closed behind them it became a different game. It was Steve’s turn to take the bed but when he walked towards the bedroom A followed him.

 

“I’m going to take a bath,” The man declared, moving into the bathroom and fumbling with the faucet.

 

“You’re pretty drunk, you probably shouldn’t…” Steve trailed off as the man began to sloppily remove his clothes. The sun was beginning to come up, casting the room with a rosy glow, making the man’s skin seem a warm shade of gold. A was remarkably beautiful, ruffled hair and dark eyes blinking at him in complacent drunkenness.

 

“I think I should,” The man stated impishly, unzipping his pants and whipping them in Steve’s direction. Steve tried to avert his eyes as he did the same with his boxer briefs but it was a lost cause; he was only human and A was…remarkable.

 

 A tried to make his way gracefully into the tub but almost fell, saved only by Steve’s quick grip on his upper arm. “Hmmm my hero.” A purred up at him whilst sinking into the tub. Steve gulped and reached to turn the water off.

 

“Please don’t drown.” He managed to say sternly, balancing himself on the edge of the tub.

 

“Alright.” A agreed before sinking under.

 

“A!” Steve shouted. He stepped in, soaking his pants and shirt to pull the man into a sitting position. A was laughing. Steve was not. “I told you not to drown yourself!” He growled.

 

“Ooooh,” A laughed, bracing his hands against Steve’s shoulders. “I just wanted you in the tub with me big boy, no harm done.” His smile was lovely when he met Steve’s eyes. “Don’t be mad at me.”

 

What was Steve supposed to say to that? It may have been a game to the other man, but it was suddenly looking very serious from Steve’s end. Having a nude A straddling his lap and _wet_ was decidedly distracting. He could feel himself getting hard in his dress pants.

 

“I-You’re drunk.“ He moved to let go of A’s waist, hands slipping along slick skin. His mouth went dry.

 

“Not that drunk,” A shook his head, pressing against Steve. His dark eyes were surprisingly lucid. Steve had a suspicion he had just been played.

 

“That’s right baby,” A pushed his ass down against Steve’s hard cock. “Don’t be shy, please. For me.” His voice was low and lulling, whisper soft against Steve’s ear, and then there was a tongue and wet kisses along his jaw and pressing his mouth.

 

It was one of the most erotic moments of Steve’s life, making out fully clothed in a near overflowing bath with a man whose real name he didn’t even know. Eventually, somehow, A managed to finagle him out of his pants and shirt and they were pressed up against each other fully naked in the bath. The sun was brightening the room when A pressed a small bottle of liquid hotel soap into his hand. Steve slicked his fingers and reached down between the other man’s legs.

 

“Ah yes,” A cried out, tilting his head back, his dark hair curling with sweat and water against his temples. “Now, Steve, now-“ He reached for Steve, fingers digging into his shoulders.

 

“It’s alright,” Steve promised against his neck, pushing the head of his cock against A’s stretched hole. By some miracle he slipped inside on his first try, and A cried out again, face contorting in an intimate ecstasy. Steve held still for a moment and then began fucking him, the lapping of the bath’s water only urging him to go faster, and A’s keening told him he’d found that special place inside. 

“Please,” The other man was begging, and Steve complied, gripping the side of the tub and thrusting harder. He pulled A’s hair, tilting the man’s head back and leaned down to bite his neck. That seemed to light a spark in A who cried out brokenly and came against Steve’s belly. The fluttering of muscles around his own cock quickly brought him to his own end and he spent himself in a hot rush deep in the other man.

 

 

For a moment they breathed against each other, listening to the sound of the lapping water. Steve brushed his lips against the man’s bare shoulder, licking off the water and listened to him hum.

 

 

“Bed I should think is in order.” A’s voice was hoarse.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“I tried to tell you,” The man whispered in the dark. There was a sound of rushing water, getting louder. “I tried to tell you but, you wouldn’t listen.” His voice was raising in a jumbled panic._

 

_“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered back, pressing his face against the man’s hair. It was wet, and there was a heavy copper smell to it. “I’m sorry.”_

 

_The man’s hand came up to grip his wrist and he turned towards Steve, dark brown eyes steady with a sort of acceptance. “s’okay,” he slurred out voice soft now, like one on the edge of sleep. “Steve….s’okay.”_

 

_But it wasn’t okay. Steve felt the hot knot of panic that had settled in his stomach mingle with the sense of a great loss. He was sad, more sad than he had ever been in his life, as he pressed his face back against the man’s hair and listened as he struggled to breath. The rushing water sound was getting louder now, except, except- Steve wasn’t sure it was water. Now, it could the sound of a thousand locusts, cicadas, the sound of a great mob in the distance coming ever closer in the night- -_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve awoke to the mid-afternoon sun christening his face. He moaned and rolled over, stuffing his face into the pillow. Then, having a sudden recollection of the night before, he sat up abruptly, ignoring the pounding in his head.

 

 

He was alone.

 

 

A swift search of the suite revealed that he was completely alone. A wasn’t hiding in the bathroom, under the sofa, in the kitchenette, or (to Steve’s perverse amusement) the closet. Marching his way back into the bedroom, he sat sullenly on the edge of the bed. It was the day he was supposed to fly back to London and A to LA, or wherever it was he was stationed.

 

 

“I suppose it was too much to ask.” Steve said to himself, rubbing at the stubble on his chin since he couldn’t rub at the pit in the bottom of his stomach. His gaze swept to towards the large windows and caught itself on the nightstand. There was a small piece of paper haphazardly laying on it. Steve reached across the bed and grabbed it.

 

 

_S,_

 

_Thought it best I headed out early. Thanks for a great night._

 

_-you know who I am_

 

 

Disappointment didn’t even begin to cover it. Yet Steve couldn’t help but run his finger over the handwriting, so strangely neat compared to A’s robust personality. He tried to imagine A in his home, maybe curled up in a small arm chair, or laying out on a window seat reading a book. Perhaps he spent his free time fixing old cars in his driveway, or watching bad sci-fy movies. Steve sighed and made himself put the paper in the trash.

 

It didn’t matter what he imagined; he wasn’t likely to find out the truth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**2 MONTHS LATER,**

 

  **St Petersburg:**

 

 

“My name is Natalia.” She took a sip of her martini. The deep black of her gown made her light skin shine. There was a daring slit showing off her leg until her upper thigh. Steve watched as she took another drink, how her throat moved as she swallowed and how she bit her lip and studied him in the light of the bar. She was good, he granted her that. But he knew she was lying.

 

“Natalia, a pleasure. I’m Steven.” He nodded his thanks at the bartender for his drink. “What are we here for?”

 

She murmured something to herself in Russian before smiling over at him. “Not here,” She said. “Later.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After their drink at the bar, they had taken a slow stroll down the roads of St Petersburg. Although strangely cold for spring, Natalia showed no sign of feeling the weather as she marched up the steps of the church. Amongst the darkened pews, and silent supplications she led him. Steve tried not to glance at the religious bent in prayer, but their intensity often drew his eye. An old woman, lace shawl pulled over her face made his fingers itch for a charcoal pencil.

 

Beneath the vast stained glass window of St Michael, wings spread wide behind him, sword raised high in devout vengeance, she turned to him. The sun shining through the window cast her red hair around her head into a bright halo of fire; plunged her face into darkness. She waited for him as he walked towards her, like a spider might wait on its prey.

 

“Something big is about to happen. I have intel on it that I am required to pass onto you.” She spoke with a quiet intensity, eyes languid as they swept over him to the pews. She held herself with a stillness rarely seen in a person, and Steve found himself mesmerized by the way she was bracing herself as if preparing for a fight.

 

“Right.” He almost forgot to speak.

 

“I hear,” She brushed up against him, her voice was like a lullaby in his ear. “That you work with many interesting people.”

 

“Ah,” He turned his nose into her hair, as she slipped her hand into his pocket. “Yes well, it comes with the job I suppose.”

 

“And what else comes with the job?” She ran her hand up the side of his shirt, up into his hair. “Tell me Steven. Do you believe in God?” She brushed his hair back gently, like his mother used to when he was a child. He looked down into her eyes, dark and unreadable in the dim light of the church. The shape of her mouth looked sad.

 

“I…” It made sense in the context, with the Archangel looming down above them. “Of course.” Steve had had his battle with faith, for years. As a sickly child watching from a corner while his father brutalized his mother, he fought with God like he had fought his father in that instant; small body and even smaller fists against an immovable force. In the end he stood, defeated, but unbroken.

When his father passed, he had thought it a miracle but some small part of him had felt sad – though he could never say if the sadness grew from the fact that he had lost a father or the fact that he had never really had one to loose.  Still, he had lived through situations in his life where his survival could be nothing less then a miracle. He had believed in God that night on the Tiber River, when he laid on his back, a hole in his chest and nothing ahead of him but the stars.

 

“Of course,” Natalia repeated back to him softly, sardonically, like he was missing out on a joke. “Steven.”  She touched his cheek as she backed away and moved to walk past him, brushing by him like a ghost.

 

“Мне очень жаль.” Her voice lingered like her perfume in her wake; a soft musky scent. Steve didn’t bother watching her leave; sure she was nothing but a shadow moving in the darkness. Instead he stared up at the Saint who was ready to bestow God’s truth and justice upon man.

 

“Sorry for what?” He wondered aloud to the angel’s glass eyes. The data stick burned like fire in his pocket.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when he tried to read it on his computer, it looked like ancient Greek. Numbers ran like a network of veins across the screen; illegible but clearly some sort of pattern.

 

Steve heaved a sigh as he tucked the stick away. He’d drop it off at Q branch in two days. “Damn it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He worked in Prague, the memory of Carol keeping him up late at night. He worked in Thessaloniki where a little girl walking with her mother asked him if he was Alexander the Great, he worked in Tibet, Lima and Ontario. Weeks bled into each other, and Steve would wake often in the night to check the date on this phone and to see if Roni had texted him. It was a swiftly fading hope; his friendship with the other man. Whatever Roni was working on must have pushed him deep under the wire.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**4 MONTHS LATER,**

 

**Sydney:**

 

 

He was walking into the hotel lobby when he looked over and stopped short. There was A, sitting in one of the red chairs in the marble foyer, reading a thick paper.

 

He was almost unrecognizable, face much thinner than it had been half a year ago, and he was wearing a _suit_. Steve’s breath felt unnaturally tight in his chest as he watched A flick through the newspaper, lick his fingers to turn a particularly stubborn page and run a hand through his hair.  Before he knew it, he was approaching the seated man.

 

He came to a stuttering halt and A glanced up from the paper. His dark eyes ran up Steve’s legs, stopping on his face. He looked shocked, smirk falling away, before his mouth tightened and he gave a bracing nod hello. It occurred to Steve that this meeting may not have been planned.

 

“Steve.” Even his voice seemed rougher; unused.

 

“A,” Steve managed an awkward smile. “Sorry, I thought-“

 

“Tony, there you are!” A’s head jerked to the side and Steve watched as a pretty red head walked rapidly towards them, heels clicking. She stopped next to Steve and glanced up at him. “Hello, can I help you?”

 

It was extremely awkward. A- Tony, Steve’s mind supplied, stood abruptly, folded the newspaper briskly and tossed it on the seat behind him.

 

“Right. Game’s up I guess.” He nodded towards the confused redhead. “Pepper Potts this is Steve Rogers, he was one of my _contacts_.” he emphasized the word contact.

 

“Oh, _oh,_ ” The woman – Pepper – raised her eyebrows in surprise before quickly recovering and offering Steve a professional smile. “Good to meet you. Sorry, I didn’t know that you had a meeting lined up.”

 

“We didn’t.” Tony gritted out through clenched teeth. After his initial gaping, he had yet to look in Steve’s direction.

 

“Oh well… in that case…I’m sorry Mr. Rogers but Mr. Stark is very late for a very important meeting, I’m going to have to steal him away from you now, but he’ll be back later!” Pepper, reached out and curled her arm around Tony’s and began leading him away. Steve watched them pass through the foyer and out onto the street.

 

 Through the window Tony seemed to be arguing with Pepper, face set in tense lines. Finally he waved a hand and opened the door of a black sedan that was parked at the curb. Pepper went in and Tony glanced over his shoulder, met Steve’s eyes with a blank face, before he climbed in. The sedan pulled into traffic.

 

Steve sat heavily on the abandoned chair. The paper crinkled under him and he reached back to tug it out. The headline read: _Tony Stark Shuts Down Weapons Manufacturing Branch of Stark Industries._ With a picture of A standing behind a podium, arm in a sling, face bruised, eyes hard.

 

It felt like being shot; the air punched out of Steve’s lungs and his hands shook as he straightened out the paper. Everything suddenly made a sick sort of sense – the prevaricating, the surprised glances, the defensiveness. In Hong Kong, the way Tony had retreated from him the night after they slept together. The note without a signature. A: Anthony Stark. Of course Steve knew who he was – who didn’t. Unbelievably good looking, a multi-billionaire industrialist, a genius, a generous philanthropist, a serious playboy. Steve felt like a moron. Sick, he looked away from the picture and back out the window. He forced his mind silent, took a deep calming breath and settled in to wait.

 

* * *

 

 

Some three hours later, Tony Stark strolled in through the posh doors – redhead free. He walked right by Steve without a glance, stopping at a newspaper stand to check his phone. Steve, after taking a moment to watch the man, stood up and walked over to him. Tony glanced up casually, unsurprised.

 

“Still here I see.” He stated blandly and looked down at his phone again. Steve wanted to knock it out of his hand.

 

“We need to talk.” He gritted out, instead. Something bristled in Tony’s posture, much like the hackles raising on a dog and the next time he looked up to meet Steve’s eyes there was a clear look of malice in his gaze.

 

“I don’t think so,” His voice still came off as cool but Steve knew Tony was anything but calm in that moment. “In fact, I need to be going, business to attend to and all that.”

 

That was effectively the end of Steve’s rope.

 

“You’ve got the nerve,” He hissed down at Tony, making the dark haired man jerk in surprise and turn back towards him. “to accuse me of some sort of conspiracy when you’ve been lying to me all along.”

 

“What, _what?_ ” Tony sputtered. His sunglasses had slipped down his nose and he reached up to yank them off. “What are you talking about?”

 

And just like that, the anger that had been overwhelming Steve, burned out. The honest confusion crossing Tony’s face made him realize that whatever had occurred between them obviously meant nothing to the brunette.

 

“Nothing.” He managed to get out, suddenly so tired it felt as if there were a thousand stones sewn into the seams of his clothing. He felt weighed down, reminiscent of his time spent under the waves. His throat was tight as he swallowed, sighed. “Nothing at all.” And he turned away, not sure if Tony was staring after him. Not really caring if he was.

 

 

* * *

 

  

That was the end of it until some 3 months later, when Steve was assigned to work with A again in New York.

 

Steve remembered later, the infamous day in Mid-April, when he’d turned on the local news in his dark flat and watched the blond anchor woman give a bland warning about spring colds and making sure to drink lots of water. She had lazily referenced a flu outbreak in New York, telling Londoners to ‘watch out’ before moving on to the latest football game. Hindsight, like they say, is a bitch.

 

Fury sent him to one of Stark Industries research facilities a few miles outside of Manhattan. In the debriefing Steve had asked why it was necessary to send a double-o to do this sort of contact mission.

 

“Stark seems to like you; he’s hard to deal with at the best of times.” Fury leaned back in his chair, eyeing Steve who stood upright and stiff beyond his desk. “Unfortunately, we do need him – he’s as much of a genius as he self proclaims to be. And he likes you. So we’re sending you.”

 

 _He doesn’t like me_ , Steve thought. “North Koreans?” He suggested.

 

Fury grimaced. “No, but they are a concern too- I’m talking more sinister.”

 

“In New York?” Steve asked. Something was niggling in the back of his mind.

 

“Yes. Turns out this could pose a big problem for us. The recent flu outbreak,” The man sighed. “Apparently it’s more than it seems-“ He lifted a hand to stave off Steve’s questions, “That’s all I know. Stark can provide you with more specifics.”

 

Steve took the redeye to New York that night. It was the last time a plane would fly across the Atlantic. The sun rose the next day to a new world.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Harriman State Park:**

 

 

 

“Thought you’d be wanting to meet in the morning,” Steve gritted his teeth as he followed Tony down the dimly lighted hall. The lower labs of SI’s secret research facility were dark – occupants long gone for the day.

 

 

“Top secret therefore hard to keep under wraps in the bustle of the workday. Despite the badassness of this facility.” Tony yawned. He was carelessly dressed again: battered jeans, faded tee, hair messy. He pressed the palm of his hand against an ID reader and motioned Steve into a darkened lab. “Over here.” Steve followed sullenly, feeling like a dog.

 

 

The sample Tony pulled from the fridge looked like any other strangely labeled Petri dish. Sliding it under the microscope, Tony again motioned him over. Steve went.

 

 

“Take a look at this,” Tony had yet to make eye contact with him, instead he focused on the microscope. “Go on.” He urged when Steve didn’t move. His mouth made a strange shape when Steve stepped up but he didn’t say anything or look at him.

 

 

Steve looked into the microscope. At first he wasn’t sure what he was looking at: a small, small strangely shaped cell latched onto another, round cell, injected something that turned the round cell a vivid black and made it rapidly shake and divide, in turn mutating into the strangely shaped cell. Thus changed, it latched onto another round cell and the same process occurred. It was disturbing to watch.

 

“What is this?”

 

“A virus.” Tony’s voice was quiet, words clipped. The tone sent a wave of foreboding through Steve. He looked up from the scope and for the first time since greeting him at the private landing strip, met Tony’s eyes. They were dark.

 

“What kind of virus?” Steve heard himself asking. His voice seemed to echo strangely through the empty lab.

 

“One that will change our way of life.” Tony looked through the scope before pulling out the sample and carefully placing it back in the freezer shelf. “It’s a nano based virus. Completely manufactured by someone for a specific purpose.”

 

“What is that purpose?”

 

 

Tony led him back out of the lab, locking the door and turning off the lights. “Genocide.” He answered.

 

 

There was nothing Steve could say to that, but something in his bones ached. He thought suddenly, of the little brown haired boy he’d seen in Kent Park so many months ago, playing ball with his father.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“The real reason I wanted you to come back is because I need your help.” Tony said later, as he mixed himself a drink. He motioned with his glass towards Steve who shook his head declining the unspoken offer.

 

“To do what?” He asked, leaning against the floor to ceiling glass windows of Tony’s posh office. The view, in rural New York, was an ocean of green pines and mountains in the distance.

 

“I have an office in central Manhattan. Good for business, bad for the apocalypse.” Tony winced at his joke and came to look out the window next to him. He sipped his drink. “There’s a few things I need held in the Pent House.”

 

“Is the situation that serious?”

“It’s derived from the _paramyxoviridae_ family, meaning it can kill both humans and animals. The incubation period is up to a week which means it’s easy to spread. I imagine they will have begun to quarantine the island by now – trying to keep the truth of it out of the news so as not to cause a panic.”

 

“What’s the fatality rate?” Steve asked, squinting against the glare of the rising sun and raking his gaze across the landscape. When he didn’t hear any response from Tony he turned to look at the other man. Tony was regarding his glass, turning it, staring down at the amber liquid before tilting it back and killing it.

 

“100%.” He made a face, “That is to say, it doesn’t have a fatality rate. Not really.” He glanced at Steve and sighed, mouth tight. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” He made an angry noise. “Fuck. Well. It turns you into a zombie.”

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I’ve got a plan. Well, half assed. I can get us across the river. Beyond that, we’ll have to play it by ear.” They stood in the massive garage, Tony going through a rack of keys, finally grabbing a pair and unlocking the doors of a black range rover. “Ready?”

 

They’d packed the truck with as many supplies as they could on short notice: mostly ammunition. Tony had grabbed a bunch of wires and thrown them in the back of the truck.  Steve ran his hands through his hair and caught Tony’s eye. The man quirked a brow at him, and they stared at each other for a moment. “Ready.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The trip across the Tappan Zee Bridge was deserted. Eerily so. They didn’t even run into any military folk. Tony jetted right past the tolls - the lights didn’t turn red.

 

 

“Must have shut down the roads system?” Steve spoke more out of wishful thinking then anything else.

 

 

“I don’t know.” Tony’s jaw was tense as he shifted gears. The roar of the engine filled the silence between them. “But we have a long way to go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Manhattan:**

Tony had told Steve that he’d been working on finding a cure for the nano-virus – what he had labeled as Extremis – but had so far been unsuccessful. Well, mostly.

 

“I have a couple of strains in my private lab in Manhattan that I haven’t tested yet.” He admitted. “That’s one of the things that I want to recover.”

 

The closer they got to the city, the more cars they began to see. Shells of vehicles lined the shoulders of 87 and often Tony would have to utilize the heavily armored bumper to push past the refuse piled up in the street.

 

Steve felt sick by the time they made it over Harlem River. They’d already seen a number of people wandering down the side of the road, eyes filmed over.

 

Eventually, they had to stop for gas. Tony pulled up next to a red Toyota Corolla that was parked on the median.

 

“Be ready for anything.” Tony muttered to him quietly, opening the door and scuttling to the gas tank of the other car, setting up a funnel and jerry can to siphon gas. As the gas trickled into the can he wrapped a set of strange wires around his arms in a quick steady way.

 

“What is that?” Steve whispered, pulling out his trusty glock 19 and quietly closing the car door behind him.

 

“This?” Tony asked, affixing two strange disks to the palms of his hands. “This is arc tech.” He pushed the disks lower so his hands were effectively free. “Pretty cool, made it myself.”

 

“Wait-“ Steve grabbed the man’s arm as Tony pulled the hose away from the Toyota. Tony stared down at his hand, and bit his lip. “You…” Steve trailed off.

 

“I…” Tony sighed. After a moment of silence he looked up through his lashes at Steve, still managing to look obstinate despite the general guilty set of his mien. “I’m not going to apologize. I did what I felt was necessary. But…” and here his guilt encompassed his face and he truly did look aggrieved. “I am sorry I hurt you Steve.”

 

Steve’s face flushed and he coughed, busying himself with checking his weapon. “It’s alright.” And strangely, Steve felt like it was.

 

Tony opened his mouth like he was going to say something but whatever it may have been was cut off by a mad growl. Steve froze and strained his ears, turning to look around the small park they were next to.

 

From behind a large blue van came a vaguely animal sounding snarl. Steve brought up his gun right as the man came out. Covered in dark blood and wearing what looked like an overall uniform, he came at them with a disturbing quickness. Steve hesitated and flinched as a beam of blue light zipped past and slammed into the man, felling him.

 

“Whew.” When he turned towards Tony he found the man staring at his smoking hand. A toothy grin spread across his face. “It worked! Shit!” He jerked his hand up and fired again, hitting another infected person in the face. “Yea, we should probably get out of here.”

 

“Right.” Steve followed Tony back to the Range Rover, covering him as the brunette quickly poured gas into the tank.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They ran into a huge horde a few blocks later. Hundreds of infected roved together like ants. They turned almost as one and stared into the headlights of the truck. “Shit, shitshitshit.” Tony proclaimed as he slammed on the brakes, jerked the wheel around and in a screech of rubber they zoomed the other way.

 

“They’re following.” Steve said as calmly as he could, watching the incoming hoard in the side view mirror.

 

“Of course they are.” Tony gritted out, knuckles white on the wheel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

They reached the first barricade on 3rd Avenue. It was a burnt shell of lumber, still flaming in some places, smoke sizzling. There was a faint smell of pork on the air that Steve didn’t want to think about.

 

Tony let out a curse again and took a side alley, unflinching even as the car scraped against the narrow brick walls. 

 

They ran into other barricades in the following blocks between 3rd and 5th. Steve focused on the small groups of people- infected they saw, huddled together over fallen bodies and feasting.

 

On 5th Avenue the billboards flashed eerily and empty cars packed the street. Bric-a-brac was strewn all about; baby carriages, golf clubs, shopping carts, motorcycles, toys. Tony stopped the car, turning of the engine and sighing shakily.

 

For a moment they both stare out the windows in silence. Then Steve turned to Tony.

 

“How far away are we?” He asked.

 

“Couple of blocks up on 5th.” Tony sighed and glanced at Steve, sardonic look in his eyes. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to go on foot.”

 

Outside, the air was thick with smoke. Steve could hear the sound of far off screams, and all his muscles tightened. Tony tossed the keys into the car and closed the door. “Hopefully someone will be able to use this.” He said as he clipped the circles back onto the palm of his hands and tilted his head, beginning to walk over broken glass and spilt blood.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

They were completely surrounded by infected. Steve had his glock up and was shooting down people as fast as he could. They just kept coming, in great waves, eyes black as pitch on sunken faces, or filmed over in the grey mucous of death.

 

A woman in a torn dress rushed him from the side, a quick bullet to the brain fell her. A man in a football jersey was behind her, behind him was a little dark haired boy wearing a superman tee, behind him was an old woman. And so it went, endless.

 

Eventually, as is the way of it, he ran out of bullets. He beat what used to be a teenaged boy over the head with the butt of his gun. The boy growled, mouth open and arching towards Steve’s neck. Suddenly, there was a zinging sound and the boy jerked back and slammed to the ground.

 

“Heads up,” Tony snapped, shooting a beam of light to the right of Steve and taking out three or four of the infected. “Here.” He fumbled into his pocket and threw two magazines at Steve. The bullets glowed a strange blue.

 

“Remember that gun I sent you?” Tony rapidly shot another series, the strange electricity brought in the wake of the beam of light made the hairs stand up on Steve’s arms and the back of his neck.  “You waiting for an invitation,” He quipped. “Load the gun, it should work.”

“ _Should_?” Steve repeated incredulously, but he snapped the magazine into the gun and racked it back, turning towards the snarling behind him. The first bullet zipped with a spark of electricity, the blue light lit up the infected man’s face as he went down.

 

Steve turned and then he and Tony were braced against each other back to back. Together, they faced the hoard.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They had to take shelter in a deserted school when night fell. The steps were littered with half eaten bodies as they quickly ran up and through the doors.

 

In the dark of the abandoned halls Steve suggested to Tony to stay put.

“I am not leaving you here,” Tony’s face was pale with fear, eyes dark with intent. His hand clutched against Steve’s arm. “Steve-“

 

“Tony,” Steve cut him off, “Even if these things are zombies, I still have more combat training then you do. Stay here.” He pushed the man further into the darkened janitorial closet, wincing as he bumped against something and it clanged into the wall.  “I’ll be back.” He didn’t wait for Tony’s reply, backed quickly out of the closet and closed the door against any possible rebuttal. He held his heel strong against Tony’s insistent push and wished he had something to block the door with.

 

The hall before him was flickering in and out of shadow with the failing lights. The few chairs lining the walls looked like strange creatures and Steve stood for a moment gathering his breath, wincing when he heard Tony’s muffled cries of consternation.

 

“Shut up.” He hissed at the closed door before a strange shriek echoed from down the hall. Tony’s banging abruptly quieted and Steve held his breath, strained his eyes towards the direction of the noise.

 

Another scream ripped through the quiet followed by a swift shuffling sound, and then a long drawn out moan.

 

“What the hell?” Steve whispered. He cracked the closet door open and peeked inside. Tony’s face was ashen. Their eyes met.

 

“Tony, I’m going to check out the situation. I think you should stay here. I’ll be back in five minutes.” Steve checked his gun. Condition one, good to go. He nodded at the man and went to close the door, when Tony gripped the side of it, knuckles strained against the wood.

 

“Be careful.” Tony’s voice was urgent. Despite the situation, Steve couldn’t help but smile.

 

“I will be.” He said softly, moving Tony’s hand off the door. “Stay here.” He quietly closed the closet door, turned and lifted his gun.

 

It was a woman, small, wearing a pretty blue sundress. She was shuffling rapidly down the hall, head jerking to the side.

 

“Ma’am, you need to stop where you are.” He held the gun; a steady point towards her rapidly nearing head. He already knew what she was, but it was impossible for him not to try to save her. “Ma’am-oh.” Her hair, close enough to distinguish as a dark blond was matted with blood, her jaw obviously broken, hung to the side and shivered with her movements. Her eyes, Steve realized, backing up down the hall, her eyes weren’t human.  Animal eyes, full pupil and fogged over. He had a sudden memory of another city, another time.

 

When she realized he was retreating she let out a strange growl and accelerated her pace.

 

“Ma’am, please. Stop.” The woman paid no heed, and she was close now, within 10 feet and coming closer. He braced his legs and pulled the trigger.

 

His aim was flawless, the bullet slammed into her head, knocking her down to the ground. She was dead.

 

Steve looked down at the body, at the twist in the neck and the unseeing eyes. The girl’s fingers where they lay beside her were shredded, no fingernails. Now that Steve looked closer at the thing’s hair, he was sure he could see grey matter and there didn’t seem to be much skin left on her chest. The woman was dead now but…he noted the extreme stages of decay and knew she hadn’t been alive for a long time.

 

He stood, shuffled quickly to the closet and pulled the door open. Tony was braced in the middle of the closet, fists clenched. He brought them up quickly when the light from the hall hit him and blinked rapidly as Steve stepped inside.

 

“What is going on?” Tony asked, voice low.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve bit his lip, leaned back against the door. He listened for any more noises from the hall but didn’t hear anything. “We need to get out of here.”

 

“Where are we going to go?” Tony asked quietly. Steve noticed that he had a plunger braced against his leg as if readying himself to use it as a weapon.

 

“I don’t know.” Steve sighed, leaning against the inside of the closet. “I guess…we could stay here until sunrise.”

 

“In the closet?” Tony looked like he wanted to laugh, or cry. He sunk down the wall and sat on his butt, legs splayed. “Awesome.”

 

Steve watched him for a moment as he fiddled with the handle of the plunger before laying it down beside him. Then he pulled the door of the closet shut, bracing himself against it and plunging them into darkness.

 

“Romantic.” Tony’s voice was sardonic and rather close. Steve shivered.

 

“Very.” Steve croaked. He could feel the heat of Tony sitting next to him. They sat for a few minutes in silence before the weight of words pushed Steve to speak something he would probably regret. “Tony…about what happened between us in Hong Kong…” _why did you run away_? He thought. He could feel Tony stiffen and braced himself.

 

“…I’m sorry for that.” Tony’s voice was quiet by Steve’s ear. It was suddenly very hot in the closet with Tony pressed against his side. Steve breathed in through his mouth, turned his head to ask Tony - why. To ask him…but when he moved Tony was right there, half closed eyes just visible in the darkness, mouth open.

 

 It was natural instinct to lean forward and press their lips together, to pull the smaller man against him even further, to sweep his hands into his hair. Steve felt Tony moan against him. They moved together in the dark, kissing for long moments, murmuring to each other apologies for wasted time and other things. Eventually, Tony fell asleep against him and Steve leaned his head back against the door and shut his eyes. Now, he wasn’t scared.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_The field of poppies was as boundless as a red sea. The movement of the petals against the wind created dizzying waves. Steve laid amongst them, staring at the blue sky. The floral scent was heavy, a powerful balm of peace that swept through his body and made his eyes feel like ten-ton weights. The plants brushed his arms in comfort, urged him to sleep. But somehow he sat up, breathed in the thick summer air and listened to the buzzing of the cicadas. It reminded him of his childhood and indeed, the field he laid in was reminiscent of his grandmother’s farm. Steve squinted at the hills in the distance and thought he could make out the far off figure of a man walking under the willow trees._

 

_“’Ello there!” He called in a sleepy voice, raising a hand in greeting. The figure on the hillside did not raise a hand in return. The wind began to blow harder, the cicadas tremulous song rose in a crushing wave like the ocean. Or a thousand feet trampling on hard ground._

 

_Steve tipped slowly back to the ground, listening to the song. Somewhere, far away, he fancied he could hear the man on the hillside calling out to him but the sky was very blue, and Steve too sleepy to turn his head. He let the siren’s song pull him under the water._

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he awoke it was to a strange hissing sound coming from just beyond the door. Tony was a heavy weight against his side, and Steve held his breath as he listened to the dragging footsteps move farther down the hall. He released his breath in a sigh, ruffling Tony’s hair. Time to go.

 

“Wake up Tony.” He whispered to the sleeping man, smiling at the soft grumble he received.

 

“Morning yet?” Tony groaned quietly as he sat up. “Oh god,” he put a hand to his neck. “I shouldn’t have slept like that. How do you even know it’s morning. It’s still dark as hell in here.”

 

“I know.” Steve said, moving to stand. Strangely enough, the atmosphere between the two of them wasn’t awkward rather a strange sort of comfort encompassed Steve when their eyes met in the darkness of the closet.

 

“You okay?” Tony asked him, voice quiet. He was smiling; Steve smiled back.

 

“Yea.” He said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the hours that followed, they fought their way through the city. Crawling under hollowed out husks of cars, pulling each other up the sides of buildings, trees, balancing on ruined statues to escape gripping hands, gnarling teeth and the blood-cries of the dead. In all his years of training, in all his innumerable battles, Steve had never experienced a hell like this one.

 

Tony was an immovable pillar of strength at his side, and Steve often looked to him amidst the fray. Brown eyes fierce with resolve, hands steady in firing, Tony paved their way through the broken world. Steve was at his back, but his ammunition was swiftly running dry. He prayed they would arrive soon.

 

Finally, they came to the monolith that was Stark Tower. The windows on the lower floors were all shattered; the door itself was peeled open like the skin of a soft fruit. They shot a young boy that threw himself out from behind the ruined entryway and walked slowly inside.

 

The foyer was blown out, almost like a giant had swept a great fist across it. Even the marble floor was ripped up, huge hunks of stone strewn all over the place. The front desk was upturned, legs broken. The phone and computer shattered. Tony quickly stepped around the mess and hightailed it to the stairwell.

 

“This is going to be horrible.” He stated blithely, slamming his shoulder against the door causing it to fall loudly against the wall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The smell of decay hit them immediately. Loud cries filled the stairwell and the sound of feet pounding on the stairwell hit them like a flood. For a number of countless minutes, Steve focused solely on his and Tony’s survival.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It was horrible. Steve lost track of the amount of people he took down, as he tried to push Tony in front of him. Rounding the corner of the stairwell they raced, flights passed in a blur. 7th floor, 8th floor, 9, 10. They had to pause on the 26th when they ran into a blockade made up of a bunch of office chairs.

 

“Get on top of them.” Steve panted, grabbing Tony’s pants and hauling him up onto the furniture.

 

“I’m trying!” Tony got on top of the chairs as Steve turned and took out two infected: both dressed in lab coats and frothing at the mouth. He heard a cry from behind him and turned, watching as Tony grappled with a young infected man.

 

“Tony!” He scrambled up the chairs as fast as he could, cursing as one gave way and snapped beneath him. He heard Tony cry out again and watched as the infected man fell; throat burned open by Tony’s deadly laser.

 

“Tony,” He gasped again as he finally made his way to the top of the chair mountain and grabbed the other man by the shoulder. Tony pushed him off and shot at another infected.

 

“I’m fine.” Tony gritted back, eyes wide. He shot again, letting out a little whoop as another zombie fell. “You ready to go?”

 

“How many floors do we have left?” Steve asked and Tony sent him a wild grin.

 

“You don’t want to know.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

By the 40th floor, they were both exhausted. Steve could see Tony bracing himself against the walls after every shot. He gritted his teeth and pressed on.

 

By the 50th floor, Tony was clearly losing his ground. Steve caught him as he stumbled and braced him against the wall. Both of them were panting for breath but in the light of Tony’s strange hand lasers, Steve could see the exhaustion marring the other man’s face.

 

“Are you alright?” He whispered, ears straining to hear any signs of infected. They were lucky in that few seemed to be lingering in the upper levels of the stairwell.

 

“Fine fine,” Tony gasped out. “Just need to get my breath back.” He turned his head to look over at Steve and winced. “I’m out of shape.” He admitted, panting.

 

“I’m exhausted.” Steve admitted, moving to bracket both of his arms on either side of Tony’s face. “We’ll rest a moment.”

 

“Great.” Tony sagged against the wall like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His hands shook as he slipped the strange plates off them. Steve looked down at him as he tipped his head back to stare up at him with his big brown eyes.

 

Steve trailed his hands down the wall and rested one on Tony’s head. The man hummed and his eyes fluttered closed as Steve ran his fingers through that dark hair.

 

Long minutes passed in which Steve observed the curve of Tony’s lashes against his pale cheek. Finally he murmured, “We should get going.” Down to the other man.

 

Tony took a breath. “Right.” He said. Steve let his hand move to Tony’s shoulder as he moved to stand but quickly pulled it away as the other man let out a cry.

 

“What is it?” Steve asked alarmed then annoyed when Tony did nothing but shake his head in response, lips pressed tightly together. “Tony-“

 

“It’s nothing.” Tony gasped when Steve grabbed both of his arms. “Steve don’t-“

 

Steve didn’t listen, went for Tony’s collar, brushing off the man when he tried to pull his hands away. He tore at the neckline of Tony’s black t-shirt, pulling it away from his neck and shoulder. Then he swallowed back his cry.

 

Tony’s shoulder was a mess; a large bite bled heavily, the skin torn and curled. It looked like it hurt a great deal.

 

“Tony you’re-“ A great swell of sadness swept through him and he crouched down in front of the man.

 

“Don’t,” Tony sighed out, eyes dark. “I know.”

 

They sat together in silence until Tony broke it with a watery cough.

 

“Well, you’d better do it.” He rolled his head against the wall. “First though, let me tell you the access codes to the penthouse. There’s a cache in the wall-“

 

“Shut up,” Anger flooded through Steve. “I’m not doing that.” He ripped off some of his shirt and pressed it against Tony’s bite. Blood quickly seeped through the fabric.

 

“You have to,” Tony hissed and tried to move away. Steve held him fast. “You know what I’ll become.”

 

“You won’t,” Steve shook his head. “I won’t let you.” Why were his hands shaking? He bit his lip hard and pressed down, his hand was quickly being covered in blood. Tony reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, Steve leaned down and pressed his forehead to the other man’s.

 

Tony stared at him, face set. “Please.” He said quietly. “I don’t want to become one of them.” There was a note of desperation in the tone of his voice.

 

“You won’t.” Steve promised. “I won’t let you.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tony didn’t speak much but his breathing was strained. Steve tried to fill the silence.

 

“You know, the Phoenicians used to get this purple dye from Murex shells.” Steve whispered this against Tony’s lank hair. The air in the stairwell was foetid, and Tony’s strange blue light weapon gave it an eerie glow like the inside of a cave. Steve had sat against the wall and pulled Tony into his lap, cradling the man between his legs. He hid the arc weapon behind him to block the light.

 

“Bolinus Brandaris and Hexaplex Trunculus.” Tony whispered drowsily back. His eyes opened, unseeing. “Steve…”

 

With a sudden ferocity, Tony began to tear at his chest writhing against Steve’s hold.

 

“Tony.” Steve grabbed at the man’s arms and pulled his fists tight to his body. Tony whimpered and rubbed his head against Steve’s chest. Steve held him as he convulsed and went still.

 

“Tony,” Steve whispered, panicked. “Tony wake up.” He reached his hand down Tony’s chest, under his shirt. There was something there, something not right under the dark fabric. He pulled down the black shirt and gasped at the blue light. It was the arc tech, or some version of it, and it was bright, too bright. He pulled the shirt down and blinked rapidly as the stairs fell into semi darkness again. He closed his eyes and listened to Tony’s labored breathing.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“I tried to tell you,” Tony whispered in the dark. The abrupt break in the silence jarred Steve from his thoughts. Tony was breathing quickly again, too quickly. “I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen.” His voice was raising in a jumbled panic.

 

The change, it must be the change. Steve felt his throat tighten with tears. “I’m sorry.” Steve whispered back, pressing his face against Tony’s hair. It was wet, and there was a heavy copper smell to it. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Tony’s hand came up to grip his wrist and he turned towards Steve, dark brown eyes steady with a sort of acceptance. “s’okay,” he slurred out voice soft now, like one on the edge of sleep. “Steve….s’okay.”

 

But it wasn’t okay. Steve felt the hot knot of panic that had settled in his stomach mingle with the sense of a great loss. He was sad, more sad than he had ever been in his life, as he pressed his face back against the man’s hair and listened as he struggled to breath. In the distance, he heard the far off sound of feet running down steps. He covered Tony’s mouth as they ran past, managed to hold the man still enough to be unnoticed.

 

Letting out his breath in a woosh of relief and looked down. Tony’s eyes were closed.

 

“Tony..” Steve trailed off as Tony opened his eyes.

 

“I feel…” Tony frowned, looked up at Steve, face scrunched in confusion. He reached up with a shaky hand to move the cloth off his shoulder wincing as it clung to his skin. His smooth, un-torn skin.

 

Steve rubbed his thumb over Tony’s shoulder in wonder. “How is this possible?” He asked, voice hushed.

 

Tony frowned up at him. “I’m not sure, possibly, hmm…actually…” he watched Steve’s thumb move. “I think it may have been this.” He moved his hand to his chest where Steve knew the strange light lay.

 

“The arc-light?” Tony looked surprised at Steve’s knowledge so he hastily explained: “I saw it when I tore the shirt to see your wound. Tony, what  _is_ that?”

 

“Well,” Tony pursed his lips. “It’s kind of a long story.”

 

“I think we have time.” Steve whispered back.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

He wanted to stay in that stairwell forever, holding Tony, but Steve knew that they had to press on. He listened to the rumbling tone of Tony’s voice as he told his story, of his time in the cave in Afghanistan, of the betrayal he faced. Of the threat the world had unknowingly faced for years, Maya - of Extremis.

 

“The only explanation I can come up with is that it somehow melded with me, with my arc reactor. It effectively rewrites your DNA and in every sample we’ve seen – causes extreme cell proliferation.” Tony rubbed his cheek against Steve’s shoulder, indifferent to the grime coating it. “I’ll have to investigate this further but right now…” He laughed a little, looked down at his hands and touched his fingertips together like it was the first time he was seeing his own skin. Then he looked up, resolve in his eyes.

 

“Right now we’ve got to get moving.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was still an age before they reached the pent house floor. Tony was collapsing against the wall in fatigue, throwing his arm out haphazardly at the few stragglers of infected that had wandered that far up. Steve was right behind him. As he killed the last infected he watched as Tony slipped the disks off his palms and quickly keyed in a series of codes on the wall paneling.

 

There was a whooshing sound as the door gave way and Tony grabbed Steve’s arm, pulling them through the entry. The door closed swiftly behind them.

 

 

Amazingly, when Steve watched Tony sweep his hand over a reader on the other side of the door the lights came up and a mechanical voice stuttered in and out for a moment before saying:

 

 

“Good evening Sir. It is good to see you back and in good health.”

 

 

“Yea, I know you missed me baby.” Tony said absently, walking quickly to a glowing station and hitting a series of buttons. “How’s the fort holding down. Upper levels obviously, forget the lower ones,” He looked at a series of holographs that came up, nonsense to Steve but obviously important by the way Tony stared. “Ah hmmm.” The brunette rolled his eyes and swiped at a series of numbers. “Great. Alright, thanks JARVIS. Oh Steve, by the way this is JARVIS. JARVIS, Steve.”

 

 

Steve looked up at the ceiling, feeling kind of silly. Still, “Hello Jarvis. Nice to meet you.” When he looked back at Tony, he had a strange look on his face. The man’s dark hair was in a tangle about his head, curls matted with dirt and mud, shirt torn. Somehow, Steve thought, he was still attractive. Steve glanced around the room, taking it in. The entire suite was untouched from the chaos around it. Decorated with a minimalist feel, it was beautiful, like a painting of an empty sky. Lots of breathing space.

 

 

Tony walked over to a strange outcropping in the wall typing on another kiosk. “This is the other thing I had to come get.” He backed up as the wall started to move, pushing out some sort of…well it looked like a strange suit of armor to Steve.

 

“What is that?”

 

Tony turned to look over his shoulder and grinned.

 

 

“The future.” He said, eyes shining.

 

 

In the windows beyond him, dawn broke over the city of New York.

 

 

 _It’s another day._ Steve thought. _We made it._

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

_In those first years the roads were peopled with refugees shrouded up in their clothing. Wearing masks and goggles, sitting in their rags by the side of the road like ruined aviators. Their barrows headed with shoddy. Towing wagons or carts. Their eyes bright in their skulls. Creedless shells of men tottering down the causeways like migrants in a feverland. The frailty of everything revealed at last. Old and troubling issues resolved into nothingness and night. The last instance of a thing takes the class with it. Turns out the light and is gone. Look around you. **Ever is a long time**_ _. But the boy knew what he knew. That_ **_ever is no time at all_ ** _(42.1) -McCarthy_

_So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten. Sons are like birds, flying upward over the mountain. – I &W_

 

 

**THE END.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Russian: “I am sorry” (sympathetic)
> 
> BTW ya’ll: Roni Man = Iron Man = Tony Stark.


End file.
